


Je t'aime

by EternalFangirl



Series: Henry Plantagenet is Mine Series [1]
Category: Henry V - Shakespeare, The Hollow Crown (2012)
Genre: Catherine is worried, Considerate Loving, F/M, First Time, Hail The King, Loss of Virginity, She shouldn't be, Virginity, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 15:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2314421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalFangirl/pseuds/EternalFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Catherine was a bundle of nerves.</p><p>She was meeting the English king—her husband—for the third time in her life, and he was going to consummate their wedding. They were going to..."</p><p>Banner by the amazing RedHairGinny @TDA!</p><p>
  <img/></p><p>In which Catherine realizes she had no reason to be afraid of her wedding, or of her husband.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Je t'aime

**Author's Note:**

> I have never, ever, written any sex scene before. There is a reason for that--I am a virgin. This fic refused to leave my head without being penned down, and so here we are. Just FYI, I am writing again after a five-year hiatus (long story), and this is un-betaed.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

 

  


Catherine was a bundle of nerves.

 

She was meeting the English king—her _husband—_ for the third time in her life, and he was going to consummate their wedding. _They_ were going to...

 

She squirmed again, detesting the action as soon as it was done, for it showed her nervousness to the maids littered around the room. She settled again, letting a maid comb her hair, urging the curls to behave. A couple of girls were taking her wedding dress away, and Catherine was glad to be rid of it—it was beautiful, but too heavy. She had loved the colour, for the soft blue complimented her eyes well, and the king had looked at her in a certain way when she had finally appeared before him to take her wedding vows. She couldn’t exactly tell what way it was, but she could tell that she had liked his smile, even though something had fluttered strangely in her stomach because his eyes had been blazing.

 

She sighed. Catherine would have loved to talk to the king again after he had professed his love to her—after he had _kissed_ her—but it was not to be. He had been very busy with matters of the state, helping her father in quelling rebellions while they prepared for the wedding. He had sought her out twice, but had been called away to some important council meets before they could meet. He had sent her two notes through her maids, containing endearments and abstracts of the work he was doing. She had awoken one day to a dozen roses on her pillow and rose-petals strewn all over her. Upon compulsion, her maids had confessed they had done the deed, but demurred when asked who had ordered it. Catherine had a fair idea who it had been.

 

She wasn’t stupid, nor was she a child anymore. She knew that she was exceptionally lucky in her husband—her friends had told her horrific tales of husbands that cared not a whit for their wives, neglected them and cared not for their love. Her husband was desirous of her love, at the very least, and that warmed her inside.

 

And then there was the kiss.

 

The kiss had made something flutter in the pit of her stomach, and her thought process had completely flown away like so much cotton thrown to the wind. She had known he was going to kiss her, and a small, rebellious part of her had wanted to, so she had decided to test the waters, so to speak. But now she remembered none of the specifics of what he had done, but impressions of how he felt. His thin, luscious lips had been warm and just a little moist, his fragrant breath fanning her cheeks. She had felt the heat of him, and had even thought of a fleeting second of reaching out and running her hand through the velvet covering his chest. She blushed even now to think of such wanton thoughts. It was decidedly improper, but she still remembered what he had said. _Nice customs courtesy to great kings._ And breaking that particular custom had felt wondrous.

 

The big oak doors leading to their bedchambers opened, and even before she turned to look at her husband, Catherine knew she was blushing. She had never been gladder men could not read thoughts, for the coming night was going to be ordeal enough without her lord knowing she was no better than a tavern wench.

 

She looked on a little wistfully as all her maids ran aflutter out of the room, bobbing courtesies to their king and queen. She wished she could escape too, for she knew she was going to hurt tonight. But that was the destiny of women, was it not? She had no right to complain.

 

Her husband waited while the maids left, and closed the door decisively after them. Catherine still could not look at him, so she kept her eyes lowered, and did not leave her seat next to her vanity. The simple satin white night rail she wore now seemed flimsy, and there was just a sense of _wrongness_ in this, for no man had seen her thus undressed since she was a babe.

 

Henry walked up to her without a word, somehow reminding her of the first time she had met him, and she had never so keenly missed Alice in her life. She had been there the last time, but this time Catherine was all alone with him. She barely resisted bolting out of her chair as he mirrored his actions from before, crouching in front of her so as to look her in the eye.

 

“Catherine?”

 

Catherine had expected more eloquent words she could hopefully grasp, and then—well, he would lay with her. His tone was hesitant, a bit unsure, and for the first time Catherine wondered if he too was nervous. “Yes, my lord?”

 

He smiled, his eyes warming so easily that Catherine forgot to be afraid for a moment. “Hal. Or Harry, if it pleases you. Will you come sit with me, my lady?” His gaze was serious, and she was glad he was not taking the night lightly. She certainly was not.

 

She looked at him, dressed in a burgundy leather doublet and matching trousers, and nodded. He took her hand, still in that gentle manner she was getting used to from him, giving her time to refuse. His long, elegant fingers caressed the back of her fingers as he walked them to the bed, sending lightening along her spine. She sat gingerly, leaving a very respectable distance between them, on the very foot of the bed.

 

He didn’t try to come any closer, and a second later Kate’s heart stopped beating so wildly. She waited for him to speak.

 

“I realise that we are to consummate our marriage tonight, Kate, and tomorrow our bedding will be taken as proof of that. I know that weighs on your mind, as it does on mine,” he said carefully.

 

“I know, my lord.”

 

“Hal,” corrected her husband gently. He shifted a little, and produced a knife from his waistband. Before she even had the wherewithal to be alarmed, he had made a small cut on his thumb, smearing the resulting droplet of blood on the bedding. “There,” he said, “lies proof of our union for prying eyes. In this chamber, Kate, let us only unite as man and wife, and not as a king and his queen. This night is ours and ours alone, and let nothing happen that you do not wish, in the name of duty.”

 

Kate looked at the bead of blood atop his thumb for a while, stupefied into silence by his thoughtfulness. She smiled while her insides quivered in surprised gratitude. She was constantly surprised by how hard he tried—he must truly want a happy marriage. She had no illusions, this was a political marriage, and she was just another of his conquests. But his efforts showed her that _he_ didn’t think so. She felt treasured.

 

“Thank you, my—pardonnez-moi, Hal,” she blushed when she said his name for the first time. Then she smiled a little fondly as he beamed at that small victory.

 

“Kate?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Did you like kissing me?” He seemed to remember she had not understood that word in the past, so he tried again in French. “Avez-vous... aimé, er—m'embrasser?”

 

Kate was certain her entire body was aflame. How could he ask her so calmly to admit to something no proper lady would feel, let alone admit? But he was waiting patiently. She couldn’t look into his beautiful eyes anymore. She ducked her head and confessed the truth to her knees. “Oui.”

 

Even though the word was said so softly it barely reached her ears, Henry’s fingers were immediately on her chin, reminding her once again of her only kiss, gentle and warm. He applied feather-light pressure till she was looking into his eyes again. “Would you like to kiss again?”

 

She couldn’t possibly answer that, could she? How could he accept her to tell him that she was a wanton hussy? It was very humiliating. To discern his reasons for doing so, she looked at him carefully. He looked to be... worried. Was he uncertain as to her feelings on the kiss? How could he... Her thoughts came to a sudden halt as she realised she hadn’t said a word to him after the kiss. He had. _You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate._ Had she left him in doubt? The guilt riding in with that realization made her voice earnest. “Oui, H-Hal. I like you kissing me very much.”

 

“Would you like another?”

 

Kate giggled, for it felt like they were talking about a morsel of food. _Did you like it? Would you like another?_ Maybe it was that easy. After all, there was no one here to witness her demands and requests, save the only man who could grant them. Her new maids—the English ones—had entertained her with gossip about the king’s misspent youth. Did that not mean he would not mind wanton behaviour? He would perhaps encourage it. She tilted her head, chewing her lip thoughtfully as she contemplated her answer. The king’s eyes dropped immediately to her lip, and she stopped chewing it at once, leaving it wet and a little redder. He looked at her in an intense fashion, and something in her told her he was not going to scold her for the action as Alice did. He liked it. And therein lay the answer, did it not? He liked kissing her, as did she. And they were the only ones in the room.

 

“Yes, I would like another, please.”

 

He smirked. “So polite.”

 

And then he was tilting forward, still not touching her, until he was but hair’s breadth away. She could feel the gentle pant of his breath against her nose, and it was a heady fragrance. Her felt light-headed with anticipation. Her eyes darted a couple of times between his eyes and his lips, before she stopped moving altogether, unable to stop feeling she was drowning in his eyes.

 

By the time his lips finally touched hers, she was breathless with anticipation, her stomach tying itself into knots. And then his mouth was on hers, gently meeting without overt demand, and his hand moved up to cup her cheek as if she were the most fragile treasure in his world. She sighed contentedly without realisation, and then gasped as Henry’s tongue touched her bottom lip in a fleeting taste. Had she imagined it? It happened again a second later, and she was certain it was no accident. It felt deliciously wicked, and she felt a thrill at being allowed now to have this. The gentle pressure of his tongue returned again and again, tantalising her until her mouth opened without her knowledge. She froze when his tongue passed through her lips, certain she had made an error, that he was going to be angry with her now.

 

Hal stopped immediately, moving only a bare inch away so as to address her. “Is something amiss, my lady?”

 

“I—désolé, I did not mean to... I did not think to open my mouth, but—”

 

Hal stopped her nervous tirade by moving his thumb till it was brushing against her lips. “Did it feel bad to you?”

 

“I—” She thought about the warm pressure of his tongue against hers. “Non.”

 

“Good,” said Hal promptly, though she noticed him let out a quiet breath. “None of this is a test, my lady. You may do as you wish, for it is my responsibility today—and every day of our marriage—to please you. Take your pleasure from me, as I will if you allow it. I will show you all I know, and you may reciprocate if you wish. Listen to your heart, and do not be afraid. It was right, Kate.” His voice grew soft. “Let me show you.”

 

Kate blushed at his straight-forwardness, for she had been told to not show any behaviour unbecoming a genteel lady. Alice had advised her not to resist, and to be silent and to let him do what he wished. But Hal wanted her to _participate_.

 

When he kissed her again, she gasped as he slowly licked her bottom lip, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. She could feel him patiently massage her tongue with his, tilting her head to better reach, and slide his hand into her hair. She marvelled at the feeling of his tongue next to hers, barely holding back a moan.

 

She shifted just a bit closer without realising, and her tongue moved to dance with his. Hal stiffened a little, but before she could stop and apologise, he _moaned_. He sounded as if he had just tasted the most decadent dessert ever to grace the earth. The sound filled her with a surge of power, for she had done that to a king. She realised now he did not just want or need her to enjoy, he _liked_ it.

 

Then all thought moved out of her head as he moved closer, placed his other hand on her waist, and pulled her against him. She was almost sitting in his lap now, but could not find it in herself to care, for she was lost in a sea of sensations.

 

He was the only being left in the universe for her, the Adam to her Eve, the whisperer of wanton secrets. His hand on her waist was stroking fire into her skin through the thin layers of clothing she still wore, and Catherine could feel every nerve ending in her body like she never had before. She felt secured, and cherished, and even desirable—especially when he groaned as she licked his lower lip.

 

She kept mirroring his actions, unsure if an eternity had passed, or mere seconds. When she bit his lip, he broke free, panting. Catherine wanted to apologise, or to point out he had done the same, but couldn’t draw enough breath to utter a single syllable. But she did utter a loud moan when Hal pulled her completely into his lap and laved at the vulnerable juncture of her neck and shoulder. His long, nimble fingers gracefully slid her nightgown partly off one shoulder, making certain she was exposed for his lips, tongue, and teeth. She gripped his shoulder with one hand, the other in his curls, and just held on under the tender assault. No thought was solid enough to think, only the feeling of his lips and the solid seat of his lap, were reality.

 

Then he kissed her breast. He took the cloth-covered nub into his mouth, humming with pleasure, and Catherine _wailed_. Her back arched without any conscious thought, thrusting her breast into his mouth. Her body begged for more, even as her hand slid from his shoulder to his neck, holding the exquisite pleasure close. She panted against the top of his bowed head.

 

Hal’s fingers started shifting the hem of her night-gown, and he gripped the underside of her thigh as he shifted to lay her down on the bed. He grunted as Catherine squirmed into position, seemingly beyond words now. Impatient with the barrier, he pulled both hands to the neckline of her dress and pulled hard, tearing the dress enough to grant him access to the voluptuous breasts underneath. He touched them with a single hand, a slight smirk of triumph on his face, as he supported his weight on his other forearm. Her nipples were strangely hard.

 

“Beautiful,” purred Hal. “So very beautiful...”

 

Kate gasped, unable to make any sound more than that. She felt a strange wetness at the juncture of her thighs, flooding her secret place. The combination of that unknown wetness and his heated gaze was too much for her. The blush which had been suffusing her face and neck now travelled south, and with an agonised moan of half shame and half reluctant arousal, she turned and hid her face in the crook of Hal’s elbow.

 

“No,” murmured the king, his voice a delicious low timbre. “Let me see you. I want to see, please.”

 

There was no power in the world that could wrench away Catherine’s gaze from his. His eyes were a vivid emerald green, his pupils blown, but he didn’t look away from her as he leaned down and licked her right nipple. Catherine’s body arched without permission, silently begging for more, and he obliged her as her benevolent king.

 

His hand was kneading her other breast, and the sensations she was feeling were too unique and new for her to categorise. She felt as if her body were raging a battle, striving towards something exotic and foreign, with her belly and the regions below being the centre of the battle—every tug on her nipple resulted in a tug far below, and it was driving her to squirming, though she had forgotten to be nervous. Her centre was dripping profusely now, and she tried to close her legs. That turned out to be a futile attempt as Henry shifted his knee to between her spread legs.

 

It was difficult to think of the rules of propriety, let alone follow them. There had been no classes to teach her proper bedroom etiquette, and she wished there had been. For she wanted to return this feeling to him, reciprocate somehow, but all she could do was writhe and buck against him. “S'il vous plaît... Je—s’il vous plait!”

 

 

Her nipple made a popping sound as it left his mouth. His face was a study in sweet torture as he struggled to control his hand’s movements on her other breast. “What say you, my lady?”

 

This was the opposite of what she had wanted. He stared at her, and she panted into his face, unable to understand why he had stopped, for all language—and the differences between their tongues—had suddenly fled. Then it struck her, as she gazed at the blue veins in sharp relief against his neck. “Please... do not stop.”

 

He laughed, the adorable _eheheheh_ a little strained. “I was not planning to stop, my queen,” he said. His head dipped again, but he stopped midway to get out of his doublet. Impatient, he ripped all but one of the four buttons adorning it. He seemed not to care.

 

Catherine could not keep her eyes away from his slender chest, pale and smooth, with his collar bones peaking out temptingly like the apple on the forbidden tree. She frowned a little. Hal wanted her to do what she wanted, and had he not been... touching her even a second ago?

 

So she firmed her wavering resolve and reached up to lick his clavicle.

 

He groaned, arching his beautiful neck back, baring more tantalising skin. The groan reverberated off her skin as he stretched against her like a cat, his hips canting forwards in a movement that made her squirm, seeking more of the delicious friction. She could feel something—something hard—rub against her. She didn’t understand, and right now she didn't particularly care. “Kate,” he moaned. “Oh, my Kate. Mine.”

 

When he bent his neck, Kate fully expected more of the delicious torment he had been giving her, but instead, his kissing started moving down a steady path down to her navel. They weren’t chaste kisses delivered with pursed lips—he was messily wet with his kisses, laving with his tongue, and nipping lightly with his teeth. Kate felt as though she was being marked, branded with sweet torture, and she begged for more with deep groans and moans.

 

Her ecstasy-clouded brain took a few seconds to realise that he had stripped the rest of her ruined dress away and was tugging her chemise up. She opened her mouth to protest, remembered that he could barely understand French, and thought up words of England. “Hal? What—?”

 

He dipped his head, obscuring her view of his perfect face. Her breath, and the words she had so carefully selected, left her as she felt a warm, moist nudging at her navel. He was _lapping_ at her navel! _Lapping_ , like a cat did with cream. Then he stopped, and looked up with twinkling, mischievous eyes. “Should I stop now?”

 

“Non! s’il vous plait... continue? More,” she said, brokenly with her English tongue.

 

But he understood her, for he grinned before moving further down the bed and grabbing her hips with his elegant fingers. His touch was fire, his tongue branding her in her most secret of places, but still she shivered. Her knees clamped tight around his ears, but he paid it no mind. He licked again.

 

Catherine was almost completely certain she was not supposed to wail that loud, but all thoughts of eavesdropping maids were mere wisps compared to the sheer amount of sensation she felt with every lap of her husband’s tongue. She was arching, moving her hips, thrusting... searching for something, the shame at being so exposed long forgotten. He touched her then, a single finger touching the very apex of her sex, and then massaging. She groaned, for the tongue hadn’t stopped lapping, and it was certainly too much. Catherine had no idea what was happening to her body, and she was just drowning in a sea of feelings she had no names for.

 

Then the finger _entered_ her.

 

It was certainly inside her secret channel, and the slow burning that had turned into an inferno in her nether regions turned into an explosion that shook her as it raged from the inside out. Catherine wailed again, certain she was dying, for such pleasure was surely the domain of heaven. She sobbed Hal’s name, shamelessly needing the reassurance that he was there.

 

“I am here,” came the quiet words in a voice gone gravelly and low. “Let go, my love. Just let it go. I have you. Mine.” His last word became a breathy pant as she clenched on his invading finger. “Mine. All mine...”

 

Catherine could barely find the energy to remove her still-shaking thighs from around his ears as he shifted back up to nudge his hips against hers. He stood at the foot of the bed then—her majestic husband, sharp angles and lithe frame and gentle hands. He was hers. She panted like a bellows as he undid the front of his breeches, unable to form a thought in either tongue. He tugged his last piece of clothing away, and Catherine gasped.

 

She had been curious as to the differences in male and female anatomy for some time now—more so since her wedding was fixed—for she had known the two must differ in some fundamental way to allow midwives to ascertain the gender of a babe. But she had never expected _this_. He was huge, or so it seemed to her, and she stared unabashedly. Had she known what he intended to do with it, she would certainly have been afraid, but no one had bothered explaining to her anything of import. She simply stared, curiosity bubbling over till he moved back over her on the bed. She expected to feel the considerable weight of his body, but felt none, for he was once again balancing his weight on his elbows.

 

“Did my lady enjoy that?” Hal asked, his fingers circling and lightly pinching her nipples again.

 

Catherine frowned a bit. “Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell what is... ‘enjoy’?”

 

Hal laughed, a soft _eheheheh_ sound accompanied by small escalations of breath on her face, and she stupidly felt like basking in it like a cat at noon. Afore she could think of being cross with him, she realised he was not laughing as much at her as at the circumstance, and before long she was smiling too.

 

“Jouir, I believe, is the word...” He rolled his hips as he said so, and his manhood touched her secret place for a fleeting moment before disappearing. She rolled her hips as she replied in the affirmative. He groaned. “Why, Kate, you undo me.”

 

He bent his head to start nibbling at her nipples again as his manhood approached her quim. It was inside her before she could even think, and then going deeper still. She felt something inside her start to protest, but the relentless, slow motion did not stop. She could feel it pushing, trying to enter...

 

 _Enter?_ Oh dear God Almighty, the man was going to rip her apart. She froze completely, fear making her clamp down without meaning to.

 

Hal moaned, but stopped his forward motion when he saw her face. “Shh,” he soothed. “It will be alright...” He stroked the side of her face with one finger. “You can do it, Kate. Come on, it will be better than the last time this way. My beautiful wife...” His words trailed off in a hiss as he fought to keep his composure.

 

“Il ne rentre pas! Non! Vous êtes gigantesque!” Kate was too bewildered to notice him try to work out her meaning through the haze of lust.

 

“Non?” Hal latched onto the one word he did understand. He groaned like an animal about to die a gruesome death, but started to shift off her. “Do you wish to stop, Kate?”

 

Realising he was stopping this delicious torment, she clamped her legs around his lean hips.“Non! Je suis... I am... worried? Feared.”

 

“Afraid?” Hal guessed, and she nodded vigorously. “Why, Kate? We shall stop if it hurts you too much. I—” he broke off as he registered her legs holding him in place. “Oh fuck...” His brows scrunched up. “I will show you...”

 

And he started moving into her again. His hand slipped down her side till he was rubbing the top of her sex again, the moves slow, like his movement in her. She felt a tearing inside her, and there was a very bad pinching sort of pain that made her gasp and push at him without even thinking of doing so. He persisted, her pushing barely dislodging him—he was still inside of her.

 

She stopped her nonsensical movements after a while and simply stared at the beauty of the man who was trying so hard to not hurt her. His neck was arched, his head thrown back, and she could clearly see the veins sticking out in sharp relief. He looked to be in anguish, as if stopping and waiting like this was hurting him. Maybe it was. But the fact that he was still willing to do this, to be so considerate, was overwhelming. She felt a burst of love for this man, who would court a queen already won, who would draw his own blood to put her mind at ease. He was the best man in the world, and he was hers. “S'il vous plait...Embrasse moi?”

 

Hal’s eyes—a deep green ring around full-blown snapped down to stare at her in a most... intense fashion. He made the most delicious sound she had ever heard—something like a purr and a growl all at once—and claimed her lips in a kiss. His hand—the same hand that had been touching her intimately—came up to rest on her jaw, then slid into her hair to tilt her head to his liking. She was breathless, but she did not care. She was not afraid anymore.

 

He started moving again, mostly without realising, but Kate didn’t mind, for the pain had given way to a sense of fullness. She moved with him, seeking the delicious friction by herself. Her arms crept up to wound themselves around his shoulders, and her fingers slid into his curly ginger hair. Hal’s thrusts were getting deeper and longer—making her moans stretch out. He duplicated all the sounds she made. He grunted in her hair with every forward thrust, and she panted into the protruding veins of his neck. Words were lost to the much more primal sounds of their passion.

 

Catherine could feel it again—the sensations were starting to intensify in her stomach once more—but he had been right. She felt _more_. Her hands left the sweaty back of Hal’s neck to somehow grab hold of his shoulders, revelling in the virile strength of the man who had sworn himself to her a few hours ago. She tried to tell him that it was happening again, but she was uncertain whether the gibberish that left her mouth resembled words in either language. Instead, she grabbed hold of his shoulders and arched herself up, groaning as he shifted inside her to a new position, and let go.

 

She was reasonably certain she passed out, for she couldn’t put her orgasm into words at all—there was a wealth of sensations coursing through her body, stars exploding in her vision, and her husband’s arms secure around her. She was shrieking—it had to be her—the sound accompanied by obscene squelching sounds from where he still pounded in her. Her inner muscles were fluttering, contracting, and they had some positive effect on Hal, for he groaned long and deep and delicious, and sped up. And he moved still.

 

 

Catherine felt too lethargic to do anything other than hold on to him as he rode her as she did her mare—and accept the sweet kisses he peppered on her face before shouting her name and shuddering against the vulnerable spot behind her ear. She felt his manhood twitch inside her—spilling something hot and messy in her. She held onto him—or tried to—when he shifted to the side and collapsed in a hot, sweaty, panting mess.

 

It was a while before Catherine realised she was completely naked. It bothered her greatly, but they were lying atop the covers; and what would she need to hide from him? He had seen it all, had he not? She was certain he would laugh at her should she tell him her dilemma. She was still uncertain as to proper bedding etiquette. Had she performed adequately? Had she pleased him? She was certain she would never measure up to the ladies of the evening he met in his misspent youth, but—

 

“Did I hurt you too much, my lady?” Hal panted, drawing her attention.

 

Catherine looked to him. “Non,” she replied honestly. “It hurt when you, that is, when—you know. But it was very better after. It was good. I... like this.”

 

He grinned as he pushed himself up off the bed. “I am glad to hear it. We shall be doing _this_ as often as we can manage it.”

 

Catherine’s eyes followed him as he walked to the wash basin and wet a washcloth. “Me do wrong?”

 

“Pardon me?” Hal’s eyebrows scrunched together in a way that made Catherine want to kiss the lines away.

 

Catherine clumsily indicated their marriage bed. “Me do some wrong thing? Did you... like it?”

 

Hal laughed. “Oh dearest wife, like is too mild a word. I loved it, as I love you. Making love to you was a feast from God,” he continued as he walked towards her and bent between her legs again. “And I shall thank Him for you every day of my life.”

 

Catherine blushed, then squawked as he touched the wet cloth to her sensitive skin, wiping away the mess. She squirmed a little, but let him take care of her as he wished. She was daughter to a king, and had known her only purpose in life was to marry well for the political stability of her country. She had known and accepted her responsibility at an early age, knowing the least she could expect was a husband who was not unnecessarily cruel. What she had gotten was a king, a husband so loving he had said so the first time he met her. He had courted her when he had no reason to, anticipated her needs and desires, soothed her soul, shook the foundation of her non-existent knowledge of the marriage bed, and _still_ cared for her.

 

Her eyes brimmed as she called out his name.

 

Hal looked at her, his eyebrows unevenly scrunched again, certain he had done something wrong.

 

“Je t’aime.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know I said Hal was Adam. In my defense, I wasn't thinking about Only Lovers Left Alive when I wrote that, though I was thinking about it a microsecond later. Sorry not sorry.
> 
>  
> 
> And yes, the use of the word ‘benevolent’ was deliberate. Because... Loki. Sorry not sorry again.


End file.
